


Out of the Frying Pan

by babydollbucky



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Dorks in Love, Everybody's a good bro, Fluff, Flustered Bucky, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, One Night Stands, or are they?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-06-18 14:02:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15487446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babydollbucky/pseuds/babydollbucky
Summary: The guy (Steve, his name is Steve, he thinks, a little dazedly) finally turns around and almost drops the frying pan at seeing Bucky standing by the table.“Oh! Jeez, you’re up! Sorry, I didn’t hear anything, bacon is really loud when it cooks. The pancakes are almost ready, if you’re hungry. I made coffee too.”And Bucky’s heart flutters, because what?! Steve made breakfast. For both of them. And coffee.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published fic. I've written them since I was 12ish for various fandoms, but was never brave enough to post them anywhere. This is nothing I ever thought I'd write. But I'd had this little phrase stuck in my head for literal years, and the prompt was too perfect to pass up. 
> 
> Thanks to HellYeahBottomBucky for the prompt-Write It or Rec It! #1 Rom Com--->check out their Tumblr!
> 
> I hope it makes you smile, even if it's from how corny this is. 
> 
> Also on Tumblr at BabydollBucky

When Bucky wakes up, it’s to the smell of frying bacon, bitter coffee, and something sweet-vanilla maybe? His next thought is that he lives alone, so who is cooking? When he opens his eyes, he’s only a little perturbed to find that he is not in his apartment. Conclusion: He’s been kidnapped by someone who is good with a griddle. Bucky sits up with a little difficulty, and _oh, right_ …. He’d gone home with someone. The pleasant soreness he feels at the movement confirms that suspicion. It also occurs to him that he remembers meeting the guy and thinking _holy shit is this guy real_?

Ok, so, not kidnapped.

The memories of the night before come flooding back and Bucky’s torn between blushing red like a fire truck, and giving himself a high five for picking an apparent champion of bedroom escapades. And _oh boy, was he a champion_. He settles for a fist pump. The clock on Bucky’s phone shows 9:47am, and he almost panics before remembering that the reason he had gone out in the first place was that yesterday was Saturday. His friends had dragged him to a relatively tame bar to catch up, saying he could be a “grumpy old man” tomorrow. The sound of plates and silverware clanking around and the more intense smell of food have him gingerly rolling out of the bed. He finds the pair of boxers and the undershirt he’d had on the night before and throws them on before trying to find where the food is.

He doesn’t hear the music playing until he reaches the threshold of the kitchen, but he’s surprised to find that the song playing is not what he would have thought the guy would listen to. Especially when one factored in that the guy is shirtless, and looks like he could bench Bucky. The more surprising elements of this encounter consist of A) that the man is wearing a tiny, green, frilly apron, and B) that he is softly singing along to a questionable pop song.

And that’s it.

Bucky’s pretty sure he’s in love. It’s so unbearably endearing, and so domestic, and everything Bucky never thought he wanted. The guy ( _Steve, his name is Steve_ , he thinks, a little dazedly) finally turns around and almost drops the frying pan at seeing Bucky standing by the table.

“Oh! Jeez, you’re up! Sorry, I didn’t hear anything, bacon is really loud when it cooks. The pancakes are almost ready, if you’re hungry. I made coffee too.” And Bucky’s heart flutters, because _what?!_ Steve made breakfast. For both of them. And coffee.

“I, uh… yeah, sure. Thanks,” he manages to get out, voice a little hoarse. Steve’s face, which had previously been arranged in a tiny smile, crumples a little bit, like he’s upset with himself or something.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume… I’m not trying to… I just thought…” he trails off. Bucky looks at him for a minute. Then he gets it. His “resting face” has been known to be a little…. Murder-y looking? He’s still tired, and his face must be a little off putting. Steve must think he’s mad or something.

“No, no, this is great! I’m just still half asleep.”

Steve smiles that little smile again, and Bucky wants to keep it there forever. Steve plates up some food, brings the coffee over and put them on the table, where Bucky has already sat himself. It smells amazing, the best breakfast food has ever smelled to him. Steve opens a cabinet and asks, “What do you put in you coffee? I have real sugar, coconut sugar, creamer, almond milk.”

Bucky replies, “Uh, sugar and creamer? Please.” He tacks on, because his mother would smack him upside the head for not saying it.

And so, they eat while asking innocuous questions, like, “Where are you from? (Both Brooklyn); Cats or dogs (they each like both, but prefer dogs)?; What do you do? (Steve is a graphic designer for Stark Industries, Bucky is a freelance security consultant).” And it continues until the food and coffee are gone. They find that they have a lot in common, have had similar experiences (both are ex-military), and that they enjoy this back-and-forth conversation. At least, Bucky really does. He thinks he could listen to Steve talk forever. As Steve gets up to clear the table, Bucky can’t help but blurt out,

“Do you always cook breakfast for your one-night-stands?”

And immediately wants to kick his own ass, because _what the fuck?!_ He’s gone and fucked everything up. His eyes are open wide and he’s probably the shade of the firetruck from earlier. Steve looks much the same, he finds. But then he gives a little nervous chuckle and rubs the back of his neck. When he meets Bucky’s eyes, Bucky swears he dies a little bit because _is that color blue even possible? It shouldn’t be. It’s too blue_.

The little, tiny smile is back on Steve’s face, and when he speaks, Bucky’s brain short-circuits, because what he says is this:

“I, uh. I was kind of hoping it uh… it wouldn’t be…?” He looks so hopeful that Bucky’s heart breaks a little because _someone hurt him and I’m gonna kick their ass_. But then the short-circuit kicks in and _WHAT_.

Steve doesn’t want this to be a one time thing. That means that Steve wants to see him again. _Right? Right_.

When Bucky can speak again, he says, “You...want to fuck again?” And _OH MY GOD you MORON!!!_

Steve turns red again, and his mouth opens and closes like a fish. He recovers after a second and looks at Bucky, who wants to crawl into a hole and never come out ever again. He looks like he might cry or burst out laughing. Bucky doesn’t know what’s worse. Steve spares him having to choose though because the little smile is once again on his face and he looks shy.

“I mean, I definitely wouldn’t say no… but I meant, would you want to uh…” He sucks in a big breath like he’s ready for disappointment. Then he meets Bucky’s eyes and says, so softly and sweetly, “I’d really like to take you out, if you want to.”

And Bucky….well.

Bucky has a sort of moment of clarity wherein he realizes that: one--Steve wants to see him again; two--Steve wants to fuck again; and, three--Steve wants to possibly date him. Steve likes him. At least a little bit. _Huh. How about that?_ And then-S _ay something, you dope!_

“Yeah, yes, I would very much like for that to happen, yes. Please.”

His mama would be proud. He is not.

Steve chuckles again, and smiles real big, with teeth and squinting and everything, and Bucky’s breath leaves his lungs and all he can think is _I want to make him smile like that all the time_. He finds himself smiling broadly, too, despite his embarrassment. Steve’s smile shrinks to a smirk, which _wow that’s hot that shouldn’t be so hot_.

“Do you always lose the ability to form coherent sentences when someone asks you out?” Steve asks.

Bucky freezes for a second, and then **cackles** , sounding like a dying animal and _this canNOT be attractive_ but he can’t stop because this is all so ridiculous.

He went home and slept with a hot guy. Hot guy made breakfast. Bucky made an ass out of himself. Hot guy asked Bucky out. Hot guy made fun of him. Bucky is in **love**.

Steve laughs with him and they laugh until they’re near tears, and Bucky and Steve are clutching at each other’s shoulders because they can’t stand without support and they can barely breathe, and finally Bucky starts to say something, but--

They’re kissing. Soft and slow and sweet, nothing urgent or heavy about it. When they pull apart, Bucky’s eyes open to Steve’s staring down at him, soft as can be. He looks like he might be a little in love too, though Bucky’s not naive enough to believe that’s really the case. _Whatever, it’s a good look_.

“I mean, to be fair, I speak three languages…” Bucky says.

Steve laughs again, a quiet thing, full of what Bucky wants to imagine is awe. “Well, then, who am I complain?”

“Exactly. Do you always wear little aprons?” Bucky quips back. Steve blushes a pretty pink and mumbles something about it having been a gift, and a practical one.

Bucky laughs softly and looks up at Steve, searching for any hint of this all being one big, cruel joke. He finds nothing but endearment. So of course, he opens his mouth.

“I guess, out of the frying pan, into the fire, yeah?”

It is a complete, coherent sentence. It is. It’s just…

“Did...did you just compare us to....frying bacon?” Steve says with false incredulity.

Bucky replies with a little smile and a wink, and snatches the last piece of said food from the plate Steve has abandoned on the table. He bites off half of the piece and extends his hand to Steve, who grabs the bacon and promptly stuffs it into his mouth.

After Bucky ingests the bacon, he says, softly, with his eyes on the floor, “I’m really glad that you made breakfast.”

He looks up. Steve replies, with the tiny smile, “Me too.”


	2. Into the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Out the Frying Pan," this time, from Steve's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was encouraged by quite a few people to keep this going. I have more ideas, but this wouldn't leave me. They're such dorks. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this silly indulgent thing :)

Steve was sure he’d dreamt the whole encounter, right up until he actually opened his eyes and took in the sleeping man in his bed. He’d been prepared for rejection when he’d asked Bucky if he wanted to leave with him. The guy was gorgeous-all perfectly tousled hair, stormy gray-blue eyes, unreal cheekbones and jawline. 

 

He was beautiful. 

 

So, Steve, fighting against anxiety, mustered up the courage to speak to the man. Sam said he needed to “put himself out there more.” This was him putting himself out there. 

 

It was terrifying. He’d never really been into the one-night-stand/casual sex thing, but he thought he might be able to take a chance on this man. It’s what Peggy would’ve wanted for him-to relax and have fun, to take care of himself. 

 

To be happy. 

 

So, he’d chatted a bit with Bucky ( _ what kind of nickname is that? who came up with it?)  _ after Sam and Bucky’s buddies left _ ,  _ and after a while the conversation had lapsed. They stared at each other a bit too long, a bit too… intensely. Bucky was biting his lip, and Steve was sure he was the color of a tomato. 

 

He bit the bullet, and asked if Bucky would come home with him. Bucky’s eyes were wide with surprise, and he looked like he might say no because  _ of course he doesn’t want to go home with you, Cap, he just met you! _ Instead, he took a big breath and said,

 

“Ok. Lead the way,” with a lopsided smile that had Steve thinking  _ Ohh no, he’s cute… Does he always smile like that? _

 

And when they got into Steve’s apartment, and the clothes came off, well, Steve could’ve sworn he’d never seen someone more beautiful (barring Peggy, of course, but she was in a category all her own.) 

 

He did have fun. A lot of fun. 

 

Upon waking at the crack of dawn, Steve couldn’t help but stare at Bucky’s sleeping face. He knew it was shallow, barely knowing anything about Bucky but how pretty he was, but he really, really wanted to see this man again. He thought about how he could make that happen. 

 

Eventually, he settled on making breakfast. Food was always appreciated, right? And it made a great ice-breaker. Or, if Bucky didn’t want to talk to him, he had an excuse not to. Steve didn’t want to force anything. 

 

Apron-clad, he was frying the bacon while softly singing whatever was on the radio. He didn’t even hear the other man come into the room, so when he turned and saw him, he nearly flung the frying pan towards the ceiling in surprise. 

 

He takes a moment to glance at Bucky and is reminded of just how lovely he is. 

 

He greets him with the promise of food and coffee. Bucky is either still half-asleep, or very weirded out. The face he makes in response looks… perturbed. Steve cringes at himself internally. With Steve’s apology for _too_ _much, Steve, too fast_ , Bucky is seemingly brought back to himself and tucks into the food while Steve gets his coffee. 

 

Steve sits down and starts on his own plate. He wants to say something. Anything. 

 

Bucky beats him to it. 

 

“So, what do you do?” he asks. 

 

Steve answers, and they volley questions back and forth for what seems like a pleasantly long time. 

 

He’s caught off guard when he’s clearing the table and Bucky nearly shouts, 

 

“ Do you always cook breakfast for your one-night-stands?” 

 

Steve gapes at him and distantly notes the pretty pink flush on Bucky’s cheeks and  _ God, those cheekbones.  _ When his brain catches up, he smiles and decides he wants to see where this goes. Shyly, he gets out,

“I, uh. I was kind of hoping it uh… it wouldn’t be…?” And he’s sure he’s blushing too. 

It’s Bucky’s turn to gape, and he says “You...want to fuck again?”

Steve blushes and the bluntness. Once he gets over that, he wants to laugh,  **badly** . He wants to laugh until there are tears streaming down his face and he can’t breathe. But he can’t, because it’s clearly  **not** what Bucky wants to have come out of his mouth. He’s redder in the face, and is looking down.

Steve sucks in a breath, and says he wants to take Bucky on a date. 

 

Bucky splutters out a “Yes, please.” 

Steve cheeks hurt from smiling so widely, but he can’t help it. Bucky is so endearing in his outbursts and subsequent reactions, and he’s just so beautiful that Steve almost HURTS from it. Bucky smiles tentatively until Steve decides to try for that reaction again. 

“Do you always lose the ability to form coherent sentences when someone asks you out?” Steve asks.

The noise Bucky lets out is alarming, but it’s so authentic that Steve can’t help but join in his laughter.They laugh until they are in tears, and can’t hold themselves up without support from the other, and it’s everything Steve has ever wanted. He makes up his mind quickly, and as Bucky opens his mouth to speak again, Steve has his lips pressed to the the other man’s. It’s soft and sweet and nothing like last night, and Steve loves it.  _ I’m in trouble. I’m in real trouble.  _ he thinks, as he looks down at Bucky with something one might call love. 

They volley silly questions to each other regarding the morning’s events, and Steve finds that he’s completely comfortable talking to Bucky like this, like they’ve known each other forever.

 

Eventually, Bucky sighs and looks up at him with trepidation in his eyes, and says, 

 

“I guess, out of the frying pan, into the fire, yeah?”

“Did...did you just compare us to....frying bacon?” Steve plays up the fake offense at the comparison. 

Bucky surprises him with a wink and little smirk, and then sneakily grabs the last piece of bacon from Steve’s plate. He only eats half of it, then offers the rest to Steve, who takes it, chuckling. 

Bucky’s eyes go soft and as he looks at the floor, he says, 

“I’m really glad that you made breakfast.” He looks up at Steve and he can only reply with his own soft smile, 

“Me too.”


	3. The Actual Figurative Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky messed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I guess I'm continuing this???? Hope it's entertaining! :)

He leaves Steve’s apartment around 1 pm, after lunch, which is ordered from the Indian place down the street. 

 

He doesn’t want to leave, but he has to go home at some point, and he doesn’t want Steve to get tired of him so quickly. So, home he goes. 

 

Everything is as he left it, except for one thing:  there’s a sticky note on his fridge that was  **_not_ ** there before, which is not actually as weird as one would think. He reads it:

 

_ CHECK YOUR PHONE  -_-# _

_ \--N _

 

He does. 

 

He has twelve texts and seven missed calls, six of them with messages attached.  _ Shit. They’re gonna be pissed at me… _

 

Ten of the texts are from Natasha, and they run the gamut from being teasing to worried to angry.

 

_ 10:38pm I really hope you went home with that guy, James  :) _

 

_ 11:00pm Did you? Are you getting laid? I hope so :P _

 

_ 11:17pm James. Answer me _

 

_ 11:56pm James. Are you with that guy from the bar?  _

 

_ 12:15pm HEY answer me  _

 

_ 2:00am Are you home yet?  _

 

_ 4:30am James just answer your friggin texts _

 

_ 7:12am I have his address you have until 1pm to answer me before I decapitate this guy _

 

_ 9:45am I’m NOT KIDDING ANSWER ME YOU ASS _

 

_ 11:32am JAMES WTF this is NOT ACCEPTABLE  _

 

He looks at the clock on his phone and swears. Nat might actually go to Steve’s (there’s no doubt she really does have his address) and interrogate him. He calls her.

 

“James. I’m going to come over and punch you in the solar plexus,” she greets him. 

 

Bucky winces. 

 

“Uh, hi Nat! I’m all good. Sorry I didn’t answer you, I was…. Busy,” he says, and winces again because  _ what the hell! She’s mad why are you provoking her?!! _

 

There’s no sound for a good thirty seconds. He starts fidgeting. He hears a deep intake of breath.

 

“James. You will not do this again. I don’t care how ‘busy’ you were, you fucking TELL ME you’re staying the night with someone! God, Clint was a wreck, BECCA was texting me because you didn’t answer her! You can’t just go off the grid like that!” Natasha is actually yelling, which is rare but deserved considering what had happened the last time he went so long without answering anyone. 

 

_ “Do you have any idea what this would have done to us?! You don’t get to pretend that no one cares about you, not when we’ve been covering your ass for years! We can’t lose you, you know that!”  _

 

He winces again. She’s absolutely right, as always. He feels terrible. And JESUS, his sister was worried too?  _ You fucked up, Buck… _

 

“Nat, I’m sorry, I should’ve checked my phone. But I really am ok. More that ok,” he adds, a little dopily. 

 

“I... am  **furious.** But glad you’re alright. What kept you from checking your phone, was he fucking your brains out all night? Did he hurt you? You know I’ll --,” she says mildly. 

 

Bucky cuts her off with a snort and replies, “No no no he was great, he’s the best, no decapitation necessary, really. Um… he made breakfast? And then we kind of…” he trails off, a little apprehensive. He doesn’t know if Natasha will approve. He doesn’t really need her to, he supposes, he is a grown man after all, but it would be nice. And she’s an excellent judge of character. 

 

“Yeah? Kind of what? Did you fly to Vegas and get hitched? What?”

 

“We decided to go on a real date,” Bucky says rapidly. There’s silence again. 

 

When Natasha speaks again it’s with obvious glee.

 

“Oh my god. You’re in love. With a guy you’ve met  **once.** I’m calling Clint!” And she cackles as Bucky tries to stop her.

 

“What? Natasha no! Do  **not** ! Nat? Nat?!” He sighs when the call drops.  _ At least she’s not pissed at me anymore...for now. Ugh.  _

 

He reads Becca’s text and listened to all 5 of her voicemails, all saying basically the same thing:  _ “Bucky, please call me back, I’m worried.” Shit...good job ya dope, made your baby sister worry about you. _

 

He calls her back and has to leave a message, so he apologizes and says he lost track of time, and he’s perfectly safe.

 

He reads Clint’s texts and listens to the message but doesn’t reply because he’s sure Nat has already gotten to him. 

 

_ Ugh.  _

 

He can’t blame them for being concerned. Nat was right, the last time he did this was when they had just returned from overseas. They were all a little messed up, but Bucky...

 

His phone buzzes then. Steve is calling him. Steve is  **calling him!** He answers, but can’t speak. 

 

“...Bucky? Is this the right number?” Steve’s voice comes through a little tinny, and a little nervous. 

 

“Yeah, hi, sorry. Hi Steve.” 

 

“Hey! I just wanted to make sure you got home ok. I know it’s not that far and it’s the middle of the day, but, I wouldn’t feel right not checking, y’know?” Steve sounds relieved to hear him. And a little bashful, like he isn’t sure he should have called. 

 

Bucky swoons a little because  _ he wanted to know I was safe. Holy shit he really is just that good. _

 

“Oh, I’m home, yeah! Thanks for checking on me,” Bucky answers, grateful.

 

“Good, good… Ok, I’ll let you go. I hope you have a good day, Buck,” Steve says with a little bit of what might be regret or  _ I’m projecting that onto him because I just want to talk to him all the time.  _

 

“You too, Steve, see you later,” he says and waits for the line to go dead. 

 

He sighs, not unlike an infatuated teenaged girl. He can admit it. 

 

His doorbell rings in the next second making him jump. No one is supposed to be coming over, that he knows of. Then, he fills with dread because he just  **knows…** He opens the door slowly, and  _ yep fuck of course they’re here!  _

 

It’s Natasha and Clint, wearing matching Cheshire cat grins that are really unsettling. He tries to slam the door shut, but Nat is, as always, quicker, and catches it with lightning-fast reflexes. Clint opens his mouth.

 

“I hear you’ve got something for us to celebrate, Bucky?” he says, with fascination as he pushes his way into the apartment. “Something extremely relevant to my interests?” 

 

“Fuck you and your creepy ‘interests,’ Barton. Nat, what did you say?” He says mildly, feigning nonchalance.

 

Nat is still smiling, too wide to be natural. 

 

“Oh, just that you got fucked so good, you went and fell in love with the guy.” 

 

He sits heavily on the couch.  _ Fuuuck they’re never gonna let this go. _

 

“Yeah, Bucky, sounds like you’re living the dream,” Clint says with a leer. 

 

Bucky growls, “God, can’t you two let me enjoy something without getting like this? Yes, ok, he was  **fantastic,** and I might have a little crush on him. Not a big deal.” He crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.

 

Clint barks a laugh from where he’s raiding Bucky’s fridge, “Not a big deal? Dude, you haven’t looked at anyone but us twice for like two years. This is a  **huge** fucking deal. You’re happy, you’re having fun, you’re falling in love, this is great!” 

 

Bucky turns a little pink (or maybe firetruck red, who knows), and sighs, “I hate you guys.” 

 

“No, you love us, because we make sure you take care of yourself,” Natasha corrects, sitting next to Bucky. She is still smiling, but now it’s real, genuine affection showing. “This is a good thing, James. You deserve this. But if he hurts you I will not hesitate to kill him,” she says without changing her tone.

 

Bucky smiles and thinks  _ I’m a lucky bastard to have them watching my back. _

 

“He’s a good guy. He called just before you got here to make sure I got home ok. Who does that?” 

 

Clint, root beer in hand, smiles and says, “A guy who is hopefully going to make you realize that there are good people out there. Besides us, obviously.” 

 

Bucky likes the sound of that.  _ Maybe Steve is the real deal.  _

 

He looks at his two friends and smiles. Nat puts a hand on his shoulder, and Clint speaks.

 

“So, when do we get to meet your husband?” 

 

Bucky stares at him. 

 

“I literally met him last night. Haven’t even gone on a date yet,” Bucky says exasperatedly. 

 

“You said he was good in the sack, what else do you need?” Clint winks conspiratorially. He takes a drink of his pilfered root beer.

 

Bucky puts his head in his hands and says, “I hate you. I really hate you both,” he says, muffled.

 

Natasha rubs his back and says, “Oh, come on, this is our duty as your friends.” She then slaps him, hard, making him fall forward, almost off the couch and onto the coffee table. He glares at her. 

 

“Oh, and by the way, we’re still mad at you. Being in love doesn’t negate that,” Clint says with a frown. “You can’t do that, man. You can’t disappear like that.”

 

Bucky groans and looks up to the ceiling.

 

“I know. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I just got distracted,” he tries, but it sounds weak even to his ears. 

 

“You promised, Buck. You promised you’d check in and answer someone. You gotta answer us, ok?” Clint asserts. He looks really unhappy, like he might have actually lost sleep, and that makes Bucky feel like  _ you idiot you made them worry. You know how they get, they’re trying to help you and you just ignored them. _

__   
__   
“Ok. I won’t let that happen again,” he says softly, looking at the floor. Natasha’s fingers dig into his chin as they lift his head up so she can see his eyes. 

 

“You better not. Now, how about a pizza?” She says.

 

Clint whoops with joy, “Yeah! Extra pepperoni! Extra everything!” 

 

Bucky shakes his head and smiles.  _ I love them. Steve will too. _


End file.
